Lazarus
by Ironi Numair
Summary: What drives a man to commit such atrocities against humanity and nature? It's always family. Set before and during 009 re:Cyborg.


**Lazarus**

* * *

They haven't reached the house when he spots the young man walking beside the road, wearing a backpack and carrying a small duffel. He tells the driver to pull over and pushes open the passenger-side door. Without prompting, the young man hurries over and climbs into the sleek town car.

"Hey, bro! Come to see me off?" he says, stuffing the backpack by his feet and tossing the duffel into the empty front seat.

"I was, yes, at the house, but here you are instead. Where is your car, Nathan?"

"I sold it yesterday. Half of what it's worth, and I know that makes you mad, but I wanted to get rid of it. Dad wouldn't take the money, though, even though he bought me the damn thing."

He doesn't know how their father must have reacted to Nathaniel tossing away his Ferrari like it was nothing, but then, he can't remember his little brother being that excited to get it in the first place. He loves racing, but on the road he prefers the old motorcycle he'd rebuilt in college.

Nathaniel shifts in his seat, like he's uncomfortable. "You didn't have to come, I know you're busy with your company. It's not a big deal."

"What good is all my hard work if I can't take the time to bid my brother good luck on his new venture? Except instead of a mere goodbye I guess I'll have to take you to the station. You'll be late otherwise." He tells the driver to take them to the recruitment center in town, and the car pulls back onto the road. "Why did you leave already anyway? Are Father and your mother still not talking to you?"

"They're a bit upset, yeah. I think they're hoping I'll give up after a few days and come home. They don't get I've signed a contract; the government owns my ass for the next four years."

"You can buy your contract out."

"Don't give Dad ideas."

"Are you so desperate that you're going to run off to the army to avoid working in Father's company?"

"You did, just to make your own. And you did it without his help."

"Financially, yes, but Father's advice was invaluable when I started out. I am not a role model to be following, Nathan."

Nathaniel sighs and stares out the window. The large houses enveloped in manicured lawns and wrought-iron fences vanish into middle-class suburbs.

"I'm not desperate," Nathaniel says, not looking at his brother, "I just need to try to get out on my own, but I'm not stupid enough to think I know how. Military life is pretty secure but I'm gonna have to work for it. Besides…I dunno, sometimes I wonder what would our lives be like if we'd been born somewhere else, like a third-world country. We're _lucky_, no matter how miserable we think we are. I guess I'm feeling patriotic, and with what happened in New York, I need to do something."

Nathaniel turns back to him and smiles, the sunlight catching in his long hair. The hair that would soon be shaved off. It had been white when he was a boy, but had darkened as he aged to a bright golden.

"Don't worry," Nathaniel adds, "I've thought this over for a long time now. The more I thought about it, the more I liked it. Out in the dirt, traveling the world, probably hating every minute of it; sounds great. You should be happy, I won't be following you everywhere anymore."

He smiles and nods, as though he agrees, but Nathaniel hasn't been at his heels in a long time and damn his sentimentality but he misses it.

Their story was typical of rich children, suffering distant parents who work hard for their money and image. It was why his mother left; she hoped a family would thaw his father's demeanor but it was wishful thinking. His father's second wife was a better match, a woman of society with no time to pander to her own young son but still demanding his affection nonetheless. Nathaniel instead latched on to his much older brother and refused to let go.

He leans into his little brother's space, eyes intense. "Promise me, Nathan, that you won't let pride or some romanticized idea keep you from asking for help if you need it. I know you'll be all right, but do not hesitate to call me for anything."

Nathaniel laughs. "It's basic training! I'm gonna call you for no reason except that they let me have a phone! Hell if I'll have anything to say to Mom and Dad. You'll be so sick of me soon, and I won't even physically be there!"

"What are you going to be doing anyway?"

"I'm going airborne! Jumping out of planes…you know, it's the closest you can get to flying."

The houses fall away as they enter the outskirts of the city and too soon they pull up to the recruitment station. The sergeants are outside already, herding around the other recruits in the midst of farewells and greetings.

Nathaniel doesn't get out of the car right away, just sits quietly, picking at his thumbnail. "They're talking about war, you know."

"They always are."

"Yeah."

He sighs, tired but firm, "I will protect you, Nate. You know that."

Nathaniel smiles. "I've been bigger than you since I hit puberty."

"I have my own ways."

"Yes, you do." Nathaniel takes one large breath, then grabs his bags and gets out of the car. He leans in the open door and extends his hand. The brothers have always been close, but never physically. A handshake is more than enough, and he clasps it warmly.

"I expect to hear from you regularly."

"Will do," Nathaniel says, "and if I don't see you on the cover of _Forbes_ or something anytime soon I will be very disappointed in you."

One of the sergeants notices him and calls out, "Klein! Hurry up!"

"Yes, Sergeant!" he shouts over his shoulder. Nathaniel gives his brother's hand one last shake, then lets go. "Goodbye, Samuel."

"Good luck," he says, and the car door shuts.

* * *

War with the Middle East comes and goes, to be replaced by another, longer war that is grouped with the first. It is nothing but beneficial to Samuel Capital, which holds multiple military contracts. He makes use of his own network of contractors, receiving information directly not only on the true state of affairs of the war, but of his younger brother stuck out in it.

Not that he really needs it. Nathaniel's phone calls are as regular as can be expected, accompanied by a rare email when he can get hold of a computer. Now and again he sends a link to a video in which he harasses his squad and gives a vague update of what his unit is up to. Sometimes he holds up his gear to the camera and explains needed alterations or advancements, then waves his hands hypnotically and says "You want to make these for us, it will benefit us both."

Once he receives a link to a homemade music video of Nathaniel's unit, dancing in various locations in the most obnoxious way they can to a song that sounds like it's from the mid-nineties. Across dunes, in front of their tent, or on top of an armored HMMVW. He can recognize Nathan easily, too tall and very blond despite his cropped hair. It is the most ridiculous thing Samuel has seen and he can't understand why Nathaniel would send it to him, until the next day when he receives a call from his father along the lines of "What the hell is this?" Then he understands, and his father's annoyance and confusion is what really makes him laugh.

When on leave, Nathaniel drops off his duffel at their father's house, makes a show of staying with them for his mother's sake, and then promptly gets a taxi to Samuel's penthouse in the city. For the first time, Samuel Klein takes time from work and spends the week doing nothing but lounging around with his brother, listening to his adventures.

Despite the fact he feels he can do nothing when his brother breaks down and cries about the friends he has lost, about the senselessness of it all ("What are we fighting for anyway?"), for one week, Samuel Klein feels happy.

* * *

His contacts tell him long before it goes through official channels.

He is numb, his body locked into holding the phone to his ear, even denying him breath, and he thinks he is going to suffocate. But he forces to inhale, exhale, and inhale again before he gives clear and emotionless directions to the man on the other end of the line. His contact is silent a moment by the bizarre command, but then goes to work. Samuel pays his men too well for them to ask questions.

Soon after the officers arrive at his father's house with the news, a funeral, a folded flag, and a coffin only Samuel knows is empty in their wake. He feels nothing.

Nathaniel's mother confronts him, shouts at him, why didn't he protect her son? Didn't he have men over there? Why did he let Nathan go in the first place? He was too young and foolish to go off to war, why? She hits him once and sobs, react, damn you! How can you be so cold?

She says nothing to his father, whose expression remains as impassive as ever. Samuel learned it from somewhere.

* * *

Samuel Klein can't work. The drive that guided him for so long, pushed him to his limits to not only get Samuel Capital off the ground but into a position of economic and political influence is gone.

His kid brother is dead, sent out with other souls to be sacrificed on the alter of economic gain under the belief that he can make the world just a little bit better. But that is impossible. As a whole, mankind cannot regress, cannot step back to what innocence they once had, they can only move forward.

_Mankind is corrupt._

Indeed, Samuel knows this too well, for he and those like him are part of the problem. But he cannot go back. He can try, use his power and wealth to aid those in need, to try to bring an end to the corruption, but it would only be a reprieve at best. That grey, over-abused world outside his window would still exist; mankind could not be changed.

_But it can begin anew._

He turns in his chair and gazes out over the city, then down to the streets. He doesn't know how he can see her amidst the ants below, but he can, clearer that even the objects beside him in the room. Young and blonde, wearing a gossamer dress and staring right at him. She is beautiful and pure, everything mankind is not.

"Yes," he whispers, realization dawning. Burn the forest and the new growth rises. Burn the world, purify mankind in flame, and let the survivors rise anew, beautiful and pure, stripped bare to nothing but truth.

_You can help humanity start over._

He could, and it would be so _easy_. His mind spun with ideas and possibilities, and in truth he would have to do so little. One catalyst to set off another, and the world would fall to pieces on its own. He wouldn't be alone; he could feel it, feel _her_, behind him, guiding him.

_Bring forth a new world for humanity._

"I will."

His brother died for that goal, and Samuel Klein will finish it. He will bring forth a new, better world. A new world for Nathaniel.

But first, he has to finish his current project.

* * *

"Is he online?"

"Yessir," the scientist says with an excited smile, eyes scanning the tablet in his hand, "He's still unconscious but he's responding to outside stimulus. His brain is functioning and controlling the cybernetics on his own. Regardless his previous state, he's alive now, Mr. Klein."

The laboratory is bustling with scientists moving from computer to operating table and back again, some scurrying out of the room while others rush back in. The scientist guides Samuel to the table where the body lies, multiple wires and tubes running from flesh to machine. The cybernetic body gleams under the too-bright lights.

"Control will be subliminal with a series of codes imbedded in his programming for you to use should it become necessary. We did the facial reconstruction per your parameters, the nose, the mouth, the brows, but it's superficial work at best. Anyone who knew him before is going to notice if they take a good look at him."

"No one who knew him is going to look at him," Samuel says, voice cold.

The scientist hesitates at his tone but then continues. "Yessir. We just need to dye the hair, and-"

"No."

"Mr. Klein?"

He smiles then, dark and full of warning. "Just leave it. It's hardly an important thing, don't you think?"

"Uh, yessir."

"Good. Begin the memory transfer and let me know when he is awake." He turns and leaves the laboratory, the scientist staring after him.

"Mr. Klein, don't you want to be here?"

"Only when he's back on his feet. Maria!" he calls to his PA, doggedly at his heels, "Get Void on the line. Let him know that the Lazarus is a success."

* * *

"The NSA was sympathetic to your company's goals and have provided you with direct and indirect support. Now I want some answers…"

Samuel Klein barely listens as Jet Link prattles on. It seems that Void's cyborg has been given too much leash and is now running amok, more hindrance than help, or does the NSA truly not know what is going on yet? Doubtful.

"Several US military personnel were involved in the latest bombing. The common factor is that they all heard what they call 'His Voice.' If His Voice turns out to be something that you set up…"

Still, it is good to see Jet Link. Samuel rarely gets to see the cyborg these days and usually only in passing as he moves from mission to mission, the NSA's own glorified errand boy. What a waste. He looks well, though, and Samuel is glad to see that.

Jet pauses, then demands, "What is His Voice?"

Samuel doesn't answer, because in truth he doesn't know. Only that it is power and direction. But he doesn't have to, because Jet keeps talking.

"The US government will have to dodge the accusations from the entire world after this last bombing, so I need to know what His Voice really is and how it caused US troops to take part in what happened."

He is passionate and determined, traits that Samuel can appreciate, but more than that Jet Link needs not only information, but to _save_. He is defending his government and trying to save his fellow countrymen, yes, but he is trying to save the entire world with it. As if he believes that if he has all the pieces of the puzzle he can save the world from collapse himself, can spare all those doomed to die in the fire, will bear anything to do so.

Because he is a good man.

So Samuel Klein tells him everything.

He watches, impassive, as Jet Link practically flees the room, armed with his useless information. He will do what he thinks he must but it will be in vain in the end. That was alright, he will survive the purifying fires.

Jet's blond hair flashes briefly in the dim entryway as he leaves, and Samuel is glad he hadn't changed it.

* * *

Jet Link had grown uncomfortable with the direction his government was taking and began spreading murmurs of dissent. When Samuel Klein suggested his war profiteering project, the cyborg became vocal, stupidly threatening Void with media exposure. He was removed and sent to Samuel Capital for reverse engineering.

They underestimated the genius of Black Ghost and Gilmore's engineering. The cybernetics and organic tissue were so well integrated, so beyond the concept of mere mechanical augmentation, that when the scientists attempted to pull the cyborg apart, the body couldn't take it. Cyborg 002 was irreparably damaged and Samuel Capital came under fire from the NSA for destroying their property.

Worse, the British cyborg from the SIS began to poke around when he did not receive any information on his former teammate for too long. While it couldn't be said that the US government feared retribution from the Black Ghost prototypes, there was a reason the UN forced Gilmore's little band to separate in the first place.

How fortunate, then, that Samuel's younger brother, his body stored away and preserved, matched Jet Link's measurements almost exactly.

Samuel Klein defied nature and brought Nathaniel back to life. Perhaps not as himself, but that hardly matters in the face of his brother's happiness. He does not regret it, when the world is burned his sin will be purified as well, the signs of his perversion, his Lazarus, wiped clean. A new world will rise in its place, a world Nathaniel died for, a world in which all good men may be free of pain and sorrow.

He will not be part of this new world, but that is all right. His brother is alive and well, and he made it so.

He made Nathaniel fly.

* * *

fin


End file.
